Once Upon a Red Dragon
Mei had free access to the building now, as well as not having the need to be announced. She knocked twice on the door and waited to hear an answer from within. He'd said he was having a meeting with Faye that night and Mei wasn't sure he was inside.
Vicious closed his eyes softly. Julia's last words were not encouraging. Still, he had business to attend to. The emotion seemed to vanish from his face as he called out to Mei to come in.
True to her word, she'd brought flowers. White roses, actually. Mei walked in and tossed them onto Vicious' desk with a small smirk. "Flowers for the dead," she said with amusement tinting her voice. "Any questions on Spike's plans?"
"I hope those are for Spike's grave," Vicious replied, coldly. He was irritated by her names and her attitude. Or maybe it was just his horrible conversation with Julia taking over. "What are his plans? And do they know where Miss Valentine is?"
"As I wrote to you," Mei said, leaning against the desk comfortably, "Spike's planning on going after you personally. Your guest and I were communicating and she wanted me to go with Spike to keep him safe." Yes, the whole thing was rather amusing. Especially when one thought about how pathetic it was. She laughed softly. "Some people are far too trusting. Like dogs. Anyway, someone else gave Spike some information on where Faye is and they've already formulated their whole plan out."
Vicious shook his head, "Spike and I will meet alone, with Faye. You will accompany the friends. There will be nothing but death for them in that basement." His eyes seemed to be staring far off, as though he was picturing the scene. "Make sure of it."
She idly inspected her fingernails--damn, she'd missed some oil from her work-in-progress zip craft--while he spoke and then looked at him. "So Faye won't be there? I figured not, just making sure. Will it be empty or will there be syndicate members down there waiting?
"I've left Alaura in charge of leading the attack. My attention will be focused on Spike. I think you should coordinate with her about the best way to go about making sure they get in and don't get out." Vicious replied. "And no, Faye will not be there. I have special plans for her."
"Well at least you've held up your end of the bargain," Mei mused and looked at him. "This certainly isn't at all boring." With that, she stood up straight. "Did you need anything more?"
"That is all," Vicious replied, "As long as you take care of your end of the deal."
At that, she chuckled softly and then turned to leave. In the doorway, she stopped and looked back at him. She looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Now wasn't the time. Alaura, hmm? Best go find her and see what she's all about, ne?Mei thought to herself. With that thought lingering, she took her leave.
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Alaura waltzed in and smiled as she gracefully set the package on the table. It contained the bloodstained tie of her hit. "A gift for you." she said placing both hands on his desk and leaning over.
A small smile broached Vicious's lips. "You've already killed him I see. I hope they got the message loud and clear." His eyes stared at the bloody tie for a moment longer, before his attention returned to Alaura. "And what of this second hit, that was not ordered?"
"Heh." she smiled. "Just a personal disliking of someone." She smiled seductively towards Vicious. "Don't worry nothing against the syndicate, but I wouldn't wanna get someone as handsome as you caught in my affairs, at least not those affairs." she said to him with a wink.
Vicious frowned. "As long as your affairs don't contrast the will of myself or the syndicate." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flickering to the computer. He was already wondering if Julia would return his message.
"It seems something's troubling you." she said with a caring tone. Standing up she walked around to his side of the desk and leaned on the edge. "You wanna talk?" she was actually sincere, not like the fact that she adored the man had anything at all to do with it. Any other guy, screw listening, give 'em a gun, that'll fix everything, a bullet to the head. But not Vicious, he was too gorgeous to do that to. "You don't have to, but I was just wondering if you would like a listening ear."
The only thing that moved was Vicious's eyes as he turned his attention back to Alaura. "I have a few things on my mind, but nothing that concerns you." He paused for a moment, "Although I will need your help shortly. I'm expecting that anytime now the friends of my most recent prisoner will be coming to retrieve her. I have someone on the inside who will tell me when. When that times comes, I need someone to lead the syndicate against them. I'll be occupied. Our prisoner, of course, will be with me."
"So what are your plans shuga?" she asked in a flirting tone. Her gun was jabbing into the side of her leg, so she removed it and set in onto the desk next to her as she rubbed her thigh.
"As far as this attack goes?" Vicious continued to speak without moving. "I have not gotten an update from Mei yet, but I am assuming that Spike's friends will be arriving to rescue Miss Valentine while Spike meets me. I want them all killed. I want no one that Spike cares about left in this world." Except for Julia....
"Simple. It's done." Including Julia. "Is that all that you need from me?" she slid herself a crossed the desk she was directly in front of his chair and crossed her legs.
Vicious leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. "Yes, that's all I require at this time." His mind was already plotting again - Faye, Spike, Julia - how it would all tie together.
"Awe I was kinda hoping there was more to this visit then just business as usual." She said taking her gun and sliding it back into her thigh holster. "All work and no play make Vicious a dull boy." she said fastening her gun.
Vicious raised as eyebrow. "Are you coming onto me, Alaura?" he asked, bluntly. He hadn't noticed before, his mind was too busy calculating and plotting again Spike, but her last comment had brought his attention back to the present. Lilley Pad 86: She slid off the desk and directly into his lap. Her red lips and inch away from his. "Yes." she said honestly. "I don't know how any woman can't stay away from you."
Vicious's eyes widened in surprise, an expression rarely seen on his face. "Many woman choose to stay far away from me," he replied coldly. "I'm not the loving type."
"Then I guess they don't see that you're a REAL man." she put her hands on his shoulders and ran them down his arms. "Real men, show what they really feel, what do you feel Vicious?" she whispered to him, still an inch from his lips. She wanted to be his, but not unless he told her. She was tough, but liked to be told.
Vicious wrapped an arm around Alaura's waist, "I shall tell you. I feel like being alone. I feel like killing someone. I feel like watching Spike die a slow and painful death." Vicious was not amused. Maybe at a different time, he might have considered letting Alaura please him, but right now Julia was the only person on that part of his mind.
Alaura's eyes opened wide. What? It was that damned Barbie doll. That is why I'm going to kill her. That is why, because of this. Alaura hid her face and stood up off of Vicious's lap slowly. "Then I'll leave you alone." she said as she readjusted her gun, picked up her jacket, bowed her head and opened the door. "Good day."
Vicious didn't answer. Instead, he clicked on the computer, immediately checking the logs for Julia's reply. He would need to visit Faye soon as well. Their chats were going well, and she was getting closer to being ready.
Alaura closed the door behind her and headed back to her car. "That's it. I'm doing this. Soon. That bitch will die." she threw her coat against the passenger seat and drove back to the bar. "Tomorrow."
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FLASHBACK
Vicious glanced again at the small piece of paper in his hand containing only an address. He wasn't even sure why he was going, or what he was getting into, but he had been intrigued by the person who had given him the paper.
A few days before, he had been inadvertantly caught in the middle of a firefight. More to save his own life, than the help out those with whom he shared the side of the road with, Vicious joined in, killing two of the rival men with ease with his Colt, and quickly dispatching a strategy to the other men on how to take down the rest.
When it was an over, an older man, who did not introduce himself, simply told Vicious to meet him at the address given on the paper in three days, and that he would find everything he was dreaming of there.
And so he went.
A few more turns and another half a mile and he reached his destination. He paused, and stared at the massive sk yscraper above him. Large sliding glass doors loomed in front of him, and through the dark doors he could barely make out the logo of the Red Dragons.
A small smile crossed Vicious's lips. He was being recruited for a syndicate. He shoved the piece of paper into his coat pocket and walked slowly up the stairs. He knew, as soon as he walked through those doors, he could never go back. Everyone knew - once in the syndicate, always in the syndicate.
But the syndicate represented more to Vicious than just a place to belong. Power, Money, and Death were all part of the syndicate life. The power to kill, the power to control - power that Vicious knew he was capable of commanding. The man must have seen it too, or else he would not have gotten this invitation.
The sliding glass doors parted ways and he walked, hands in his pockets, into the lobby. A small smirk crosse d his lips as he watche d the eyes of the syndicate guards in the lobby trail him.
Vicious continued walking towards the elevator, until one of the guards stepped out and told him to stop. "Where do you think you're going?" the guard asked, his voice stern.
Vicious shrugged and pulled the piece of paper out of his hand. "To Office 136." He replied, holding it up as though it were a ticket.
"That's Mao's office," another guard said. "He told us he was expecting people." With that, the first guard relaxed, and indicated he could go, but his eyes did not leave Vicious until the elevator doors closed.
Vicious pressed the button on the elevator of the floor indicated on the paper, and waited as the elevator climbed. The skyscraper was huge, and 'Mao's' office was near the top. Vicious contemplated that fact. This 'Mao' must be an important man.
The doors opened and in front of Vicious, two more large brown oa k double doors stood blo c king the way between himself and the man who had invited him. He strolled, slowly, out of the elevator, and paused before knocking on the oak in front of him.
Last chance to turn back.....
Vicious smirked again. Never. This was where he belonged. The seventeen-year-old boy's life was about to change forever.
Carl, Spike decided, was an idiot. Less than a week in the gang, and he'd already managed to get himself caught and tossed into jail. Well, let him stay there. Spike never should have let him join in the first place. The thirteen-year-old had showed promise, what with his almost-supernatural ability to remain hidden and not be seen.
Almost.
Spike's gang was the most feared and respected of all the bands of restless teenagers who prowled the East End slums. From an early age, he'd had little or no use for the shoddy public school that his two younger brothers and sister had attended. He'd learned everything he cared to know from the public library downtown, only a short train ride away - at least, everything that a textbook could teach.
Perhaps it had been fate that had led him to this life. Perhaps, when he'd met that man in the back of an alleyway, bleeding and stumbling, it had been more than chance that had inspired the dying stranger to give his well-worn Jericho 941 to a twelve-year-old boy. And perhaps not.
Either way, there was no way Spike was going back. Not when he'd learned to use that gun. Not when he'd spent years recruited the most talented youth of the area to serve him. Not when he'd fought for every ounce of well-deserved reputation that he'd gained.
Was it fate, then, that he'd received the call? Fate that the businessman who's office they'd robbed over the weekend was controlled via blackmail by Red Dragon syndicate? Fate that, among the other items they'd stolen, Spike had picked up the private comm they used to keep in touch with him?
The little red communicator had just beeing lying on the man's desk, and Spike's appraising eyes had noted that it could be hocked for an easy thousand woolongs. So he'd slipped it into his pocket and continued with the job. He hadn't thought any more about it until it had gently chimed, and the voice issuing from its speakers advised him to visit a certain building at a certain time. Alone.
Now, Spike walked uneasily through a double set of tinted sliding glass doors. His leather jacket and jeans seemed inadquate to the dark suits worn by the men who lined the walls. King of the streets, he suddenly felt very, very insecure.
He had the advanatge of height on most of them, although the seventeen-year-old hadn't quite reached the full growth that would fill him out, eliminating his current gangly appearance. Still, they all radiated a menacing and dangerous aura that made him uneasy.
Spike scaled an escalator, then paced slowly to the elevator. He reached it just before it closed. Darting his hand between the twin stainless steel doors, he waited for it to reopen then stepped inside. Curiously, it was empty..
As the voice on the comm had instructed, Spike rode the elevator to a specific floor. He emerged in a luxurious oak-paneled hall. Another teenager, hair prematurely silver-blue, stood before a pair of doors. Next to them, on a small burnished golden plaque, read the simple numbers "136."
Spike silently stepped up next to his hallway companion, then knocked.
Vicious heard the elevator doors open behind him, and his eyes glanced over his shoulder to see who had arrived. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when a gangly looking youth his age stepped out, instead of the syndicate goon Vicious was expecting. The teen was clad in jeans, slightly less dressy than Vicious's own pants, although both sported a leather jacket.
The two were nearly the same height, and Vicious noted the other teen had a familiar air about him - the same air of confidence that Vicious himself normally carried. Vicious turned back to the door, waiting for some sign that the two of them should enter.
Interesting though, that he was not the only one who was called to Mao's office that day.
Spike gave his companion a glance, and was about to speak when a voice issued from behind the double oak doors.
"Do come in," the voice said. It was the pleasant tenor of a middle-aged man who was clearly in a good mood, but something about it hinted that he was more than just an average suit.
Spike pushed open the door and cautiously stepped forward. The office was furnished lushly and tastefully, paneled in dark oak like the hall outside. Maroon- and cream-colored curtains framed a window with a breathtaking view of the city. A bookcase filled with tomes and interesting oddities was against the east wall. A large desk was predominant in the room. In front were a pair of vacant chairs, and behind, in a leather swivel, sat the speaker.
He was a small man, but power seemed to radiate from him. "Take a seat, both of you," he said pleasantly. Once the pair had complied, he added, "Now, do you know why I have called you here?"
Vicious followed the moss-haired man through the doors. Vicious headed for the chair on the left, and sat just as the other teen sat as well. He also eyed the room, impressed with both it's size as the quality of the furniture and decor. Vicious had never sat in a chair as nice as the one he was now seated, and his body molded into the soft upholstery. Now, more than ever, he wanted into this life - this life, which was so much better than the one he'd had before.
The man in front of them began to speak, and his attention returned. He listened to the question, then slowly shook his head no, even though he had a very good idea as to why they had been called.
Following the lead of the teen next to him, Spike remained silent as well. After a brief pause, the man nodded approvingly. "As you know, this is the headquarters of the Red Dragon clan. My name is Mao Yenrai. You have come here because you wish to join our ranks in search of power: power of property, power of people, and most fo all, power of self."
He spoke clearly, in a certain tone of voice which allowed no capacity for questions. Everyone word was presented as a simple, indeniable truth. Yenrai nodded to the two teens in turn. "You are Vicious, and you are known as Spike. Both of you will be abandoning your old ways of life to join us. We will expect a great deal from you, but you will receive a great deal in return. Release any ties to your respective pasts. The Red Dragon is your family now."
Yenrai stood, hands spread. "Welcome."
Vicious noted from the very beginning that there was no choice in Yenrai's words. It was not a question of whether or not they would choose to join, but a matter of fact - they would join - simple as that. 'Once you walk in, you never walk out.' Vicious could remember his own thoughts as he had stared up at the Red Dragon Crest before entering the building. Vicious's eyes glanced at Spike, knowing now the name of the man who was seated next to him, but could not gage his feelings about the matter. Vicious wagered his own expression was just as indecipherable.
In responce he stood. He needed little prompting. He had already made his decision before he had walked in the door. "I would be honored to join with the Red Dragons."
Apparently this Vicious had received a bit more notice ahead of time than he had, Spike noted. For a moment, he paused to stop and think this whole matter through. If he joined Red Dragon, he'd be giving up everything he'd spent all these years of his life working so hard to build -
- which was nothing more than a grubby pack of kids with attitude. It was like the difference between Little League and pro baseball. Red Dragon clan could help him achieve greatness, rather than living a mediocre and substandard life. He inclined his head respectfully. "As would I," Spike said, standing to mirror both Vicious' posture and tone of voice.
Yenrai clasped his hands, eyes sparkling knowingly. "Hearing that fills my heart with joy, gentlemen," he told the two. "I believe you will make good partners. You have much in common." He tapped a small button on his desk console, then cleared his throat. "See yourselves out. I'm sure you will have much to talk about. I have called someone to come and show you to your new rooms. You may live with us, if you like, or remain in your current positions. Either way, report to Room #11 on the third floor tomorrow at nine A.M. You have much to learn."
Vicious bowed his head, a sign of respect, to the man he had just met. Then he slowly turned to face Spike. His eyes took in again the man standing in front of him. Yenrai claimed they had much in common, although Vicious could not determine what, beyond their confident attitude and ragged appearance. He gave Spike a small silent nod, then turned to walk from the room.
Partner? The word was foreign to Vicious. He had grown up alone, parentless since the age of ten, with little to depend on beyond himself. He had never had a partner before. He had never had anyone before. He was not sure he wanted a partner - Vicious was a person who chose to work alone.
However, his new mentor had told him he would have a partner. If he wished to move up in the syndicate, he knew he'd have to curb his natural tendency to asurp all authority and listen. As he stepped from the room, and pressed the down button on the elevator, he turned back around, and let his eyes meet Spike's.
Spike met Vicious' gaze, and was surprised by the hardness he saw there - almost a perfect mirror of his own. It had been a long, long time since he'd encountered anyone he'd have been willing to partner with. Yes, the gang he'd pieced together was a collection of strong, reliable followers ... But they were just that: followers. And this Vicious was supposed to be his equal?
Hand in the pocket of his jacket, his fingertips traced the familiar and comforting outlines of his Jericho. "So," he said vaguely. "Partners."
Vicious regarded Spike again. His tone was indifferent, as though he cared as little for the new arrangement as Vicious did. Vicious said nothing, turning his back as the elevator doors opened. He would have to watch this Spike - there was not a man in the world Vicious would trust, especially one assigned to be his partner.
"A rather interesting word," he said softly, "Partner."
"Yeah," Spike agreed, tone suddenly informal and talkative. "I never really knew what that word meant. Never could remember if it meant 'ally,' 'friend,' 'traitor,' or 'waste of time and space.' Times when you just need a pocket dictionary, you know? Maybe you can help me out. Which definition do you use?"
Vicious turned and faced Spike. The tone had changed, as well as the air in the elevator. "I've never had a partner before. I'll have to make my own definition for the word." He leaned against the wall, relaxing his body a bit. "What about you? Which definitely is the one you prefer?"
Spike stared at a small ventilation grill set into the ceiling. "Hard to say," he said absently. He looked back down at Vicious, a steely glint in his eyes. "To start with, you've got to be able to trust your partner. And he sure as hell has to be able to pull his own weight. You with me so far?"
Vicious listened to the tone in Spike's voice, and ignored his comments. He didn't wish to be ordered around by his 'partner' but at the same time, Spike's own words rang true with his own sentiments. He continued to look off, as though he cared little for the conversation. "I think a partner has to earn that trust. There aren't many men in this world I would put my faith in." His tone was flat and his voice was even. He exuded confidence with his words, as though he expected that Spike would understand far more than just the plain meaning of them.
"I gotta agree with you on that one," Spike said. Yenrai had been correct in one thing at least - he and this Vicious did have a great deal in common. There were a few places where they differed, he could tell from Vicious' tone of voice. Someday, he'd find out just what they were.
He slowly withdrew his Jericho from his pocket and toyed with it, wiping off a miniscule smudge before replacing it. "So, what's your specialty? Anything in particular?"
Vicious watched Spike for a moment as he played with his gun. "Colt," he said, withdrawing his own weapon and flashing it for Spike. "But my true passion is blades; speciality: the katana." Vicious felt nearly naked without the blade, but he had left it behind. Walking into the syndicate with the hidden weapon had been risky enough for his first day.
The elevator reached the bottom floor, and Vicious stepped out into the lobby of the syndicate. "So, according to the old man, we have much to talk about. Any place in particular you'd like to go to fulfill his request?"
Spike smiled. "Not really," he admitted. "I don't think you'd much like the kinds of places where I tend to spend my time." So, Vicious used a sword? Interesting. Very interesting, in fact. Spike had known a few knife fighters in his time, but no one who'd used an actual sword. He'd love to see that in a real fight - but he'd stick with his Jericho just the same. Speaking of which, maybe he could ask if Red Dragon could replace his current weapon. The elderly gun, despite all he'd done to keep it maintained, had long since passed the point where it should have been retired.
Spike fell into place beside Vicious as they headed for the sliding glass doors. The syndicate members, who'd been suspicious of the two on their way in, now ignored them. If Yenrai had found them unacceptable, they'd have left the building in a drastically different fashion. Therefore, they were now Red Dragon. "Maybe you have an idea?" Spike asked.
Up in his office, Mao Yenrai smiled at the display that his viewscreen showed him, live feed from one of the security cameras in the lobby. He'd been right about those two. For all that they were standoffish now, they'd become a perfectly-functioning cohesive team in the very near future.
Vicious shrugged as the inside sliding glass doors opened, followed shortly after by the outside pair. "There are few bars down the way that I've been to in the past." He wasn't letting his guard down just yet. His hands found their way into the pockets of his coat as he walked, "I could use a good drink. You interested?"
He slowed a bit, waiting for Spike to catch up. It would do him no good if he could not see his new partner's expressions as he talked. Vicious needed to learn as much as he could about Spike - he had a feeling it would not be long before Yenrai put them to use.
"Yeah," agreed Spike. "I could definitely use a drink." The fact that they were both underage didn't seem to bother him. He kept his face impassive, still unsure how to behave around Vicious. This whole concept of having a single other person, theoretically his equal in skill, be completely trustworthy was still new to him.
Vicious walked into the bar, giving the bartender a nod before heading for a back table. He'd been there before, and they cared little about the fact that he was still a minor. With the syndicate title soon upon them, they'd be able to go anywhere with little problem. "Whiskey," he said to the waitress, before turning and nodding to Spike, indicating he should order. He continued to observe Spike's movements and expressions. If they were going to work together, he'd need to learn to read Spike's mind as though it were his own. He smiled at the thought. It had been a long time since he'd even considered something like that.
That was definitely a good sign, Spike decided. He raised a finger in an abbreviated gesture. "Same," he said simply. Automatically, he glanced around the room, noting exits, barriers, and the various patrons. He hadn't been here before, which gave Vicious an advantage. His moment of scrutiny completed, he shifted his gaze back to Vicious' face, saying nothing. His eyes prompted his new partner to speak.
"Another whiskey drinker," Vicious said, noting yet another similarity between he and Spike. "Whiskey drinkers tend to have more character than others." He had noticed Spike's take on the room - Vicious had done that as well the first time he had set foot in the place. "If you're wondering, the best way out of here is the stairs in the back. They take you up to a balcony - and the neighboring roof is an easy jump away."
Spike processed the two new pieces of information - first, the way out, and second, that Vicious had told him it. The former was more useful, and the latter more significant. "Good to know," he said, unsure himself which of the two facts he was referring to. The waitress arrived with a tray and two shots of whiskey in crystal shot glasses.
"Leave the bottle," Spike said, eyeing the waitress. She was pretty, but nothing to write home about. If he'd had a home, that is. He had the hunch that they'd be drinking more than just the two shots. The waitress muttered something under her breath, depositing the bottle on the table and leaving.
Spike picked up his glass in his fingertips and raised it. "To partnership," he suggested.
Vicious lifted his own glass and let it click lightly against Spike's. "To partnership," he echoed, before knocking back the shot. He lifted the bottle and refilled both his own glass, and then Spike's. His fingers rubbed the smooth surface of the glass as he thought about what had just happened. Spike's toast, at least in his mind, had disclosed that Spike did not object to the idea of them being partners. This was, of course, a significant step - neither men had been in this position before.
"Spike," Vicious said, relaxing a bit in the booth. "I think I like your style."
